


Breaking Over Me

by bloodofthepen



Series: Regrets, Like Old Friends [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofthepen/pseuds/bloodofthepen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard and Garrus talk about loss, and make a deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Over Me

The commander closed the comm-link, a lock of dark hair falling over her forehead, a fresh sigh of exasperation on her lips.

“It’s difficult.”

            Shepard lifted her head to find Garrus leaning against the wall opposite, each of them out of view of those in the War Room. “Letting things out of my hands at a time like this? Damn right.”

            The turian nodded. “I know it won’t make you feel better, but you have a knack for knowing what to keep.” He spread his hands.

            “You could’ve said it the other way, Garrus.” The look in her eyes was almost amused, but it couldn’t soften the harsh shadows beneath them. “I know. It’s part of being a soldier—letting go. Seeing losses.”

            “That’s not what we were talking about.”

            The commander shrugged. “Maybe it should be.” She gestured to the door with her chin and exited into the War Room, nodding brief acknowledgement to the crewmembers she passed; he followed.

            The gate guards were chatting as they stepped through the scanner. Something about Cerberus and ex-Alliance personnel; Garrus was more concerned with following Shepard’s movements, but her rigid posture gave nothing away except the expected tension. Even her hair, usually a messy pile tucked under her helmet, was pulled severely back, a tight, black bun. He had been watching it build since Menae, a tight pull across her shoulders, bitter creases around her mouth.

            “Traynor.” The commander gave her a nod as they passed.

            They found one another side-by-side on the elevator as the doors slid firmly closed. Shepard did not select a destination: she let herself drop back against the wall with a sigh, rolling a kink out of her neck, a few dark strands of hair clinging, static, to the metal, searching for freedom from their harsh bind.

            “Fancy a drink, Vakarian?”

            He spread his mandibles in surprise. “Alliance duty regulations?” A trill of amusement in his sub-vocals.

            “Don’t apply to you, last I checked.” She shrugged. “The Alliance owes me a couple drinks, anyway, and if it doesn’t interfere with my ability to command, I think I’ll collect.”

            He shrugged, grinning. “If you can’t break all the rules at galaxy’s end, when can you?”

            “My point exactly.” Shepard selected her quarters, and the elevator began to rise. “I still have some of that dextro wine you and Tali liked so much last time.”

            “Sounds good to me. Beer again for you?”

            The commander shook her head as they stepped off the elevator. The lock on her door recognized her omni-tool’s signature immediately and let them pass. “Something stronger. Thanks to Cerberus’ upgrades, it won’t make me sloppy if I’m careful about it.”

            She knelt beside the sofa and swiped her omni-tool along a panel: it slid open to reveal a makeshift liquor cabinet. Garrus shook his head as she selected a bottle of wine and one of whiskey.

            “I’m just glad the Alliance didn’t find it while I was grounded.” A little grin caught her lips that reminded the turian of the one she wore just before lobbing a grenade into the cracked cockpit of an Atlas. “Some of this is pretty expensive.”

            “What, you couldn’t exercise your ‘I’m Commander Shepard, damn it’ discount?” He watched as she produced and filled two glasses.

            “I don’t abuse my position to buy booze, Garrus.”

            The turian tilted his head. “Oh, don’t you?”

            Shepard chuckled, handing him his glass, filled with a sort of lavender-brown wine. “Ok, I _try_ not to abuse my position to buy booze _often_.”

            “That’s better.”

            They raised their glasses and drank, each settling on a sofa. The dextro wine was good, spicy with a tart edge, but Shepard just enjoyed the burn of the whiskey—she never did bother making that particular purchase too expensive.

Blue light filtered from the fishtank, casting deep shadows over the angular planes of Shepard’s face. The liquor burned her throat, lips pursed, a thin, pale line. From this angle, Garrus could see the glint of red cybernetics behind cerulean eyes. She did not speak, only remained upright, back aligned, at attention. Her gaze lingered elsewhere, beyond her friend sipping carefully at a rim designed for non-turian mouths. The longer she stared, the more it felt the filtered air of the cabin, chilly, pressed into his skin.

It was clear Shepard would not begin the conversation.

            “Mordin?” Garrus asked.

            Shepard’s hands tightened around her glass. “I understand why he did it, believe me.”

            Garrus shrugged. “That doesn’t mean it hurts less.”

            She pressed her fingers to her temple, possibly fighting a developing headache; he’d seen Kaidan make the gesture often enough. “It’s… not just that.” She sighed, dropped her hand, and took another gulp from her glass. “There just comes a time when you run out of options, and Mordin… made peace with that. In a way I’m not sure I can.”

            The turian considered this a moment, mandibles pressed tight to his face. “What do you mean, Shepard?”

            The commander shot the rest of her whiskey, and poured another glass. “When this is over. I want that kind of peace if it comes down to the wire and I have to make a decision that means I’ve run out of options for myself.”

            An uneasy chuckle. “Peaceful isn’t a word I would ever associate with Mordin—”           

            “You didn’t see him!” Two fingers on her forehead and a thumb at her temple again. “‘Someone else might have gotten it wrong’—matter-of-fact. There was no other way, and he was just… fine. Good, even. When it comes down to it—I can’t. I need options; even if there’s the smallest chance of success, I’ll take it.”

            “It’s what makes you a good leader—you’ll do the impossible and come out alive at the end, and make anyone else believe they can, too.” He offered a half-grin. “Even a pessimistic would-be vigilante.”

            Shepard shook her head. “Only because I have the options. Once they run out, I panic.”

            “How do—”

            “Because I’ve done it before, Garrus.” Another emptying of her glass, focusing on the burn, the prickling from her lips to her throat. She looked past him, focusing on the wall opposite. “When the Collectors destroyed the first _Normandy_ , I had a choice: eject Joker’s pod and save him, or try, and fail, to get there before the beam struck again. I ejected it and drifted away on the small chance someone could double-back and pick me up before I was swept in by planetary gravity.” She flicked her wrist. “Another blast by the Collector beam and I hit some debris, drifting out over Alchera’s surface.” She shook her head. “Didn’t think about it at the time—Alchera. Some damn planet in the middle of nowhere, looking at it upside-down… There comes a time when you just run out of options—that was mine: I knew as soon as I heard the hiss of my oxygen leak.” Her fingers tightened, a fist around the glass. “So… I panicked, grabbing for the breach, turning over—the darkness, the stars, the frozen surface of that God-forsaken planet. Cold creeping into my skin—I didn’t know if it was just the temperature outside my suit or the icy hand of death everyone talks about. I didn’t stop until I didn’t have the energy or the oxygen left to keep going.”

            “Shepard—”

            “I’m not exactly looking forward to dying again if that’s how I’m going to do it.”

            There was a nervous, concerned trill in Garrus’ sub-vocals, but he knew no words for something like this—not that he’d been raised to discuss his feelings much at all. He finished his glass.

            Shepard set her glass on the table before them with a dull thud. “And Thane— _Thane_ —gods…”

            The turian settled a hand on her shoulder. “Shepard, if—”

            “I’m sorry. I know. He knew. I— _I couldn’t do anything_ , Garrus. And he was just… ok.” Shepard’s fingers fisted in her hair. “I panicked then, too. It wasn’t even me—or—it—” Her nails raked across her scalp. Her breathing hitched. But her eyes were dry.

            “He was a piece of you… you miss him.”

            “ _I couldn’t do a damn thing to save him_. He was at peace, and I was nothing—nothing but a great big ball of fucking panic.” Her glass shattered, the pieces glinted on the carpet. The remainder of her whiskey dripped down the wall, gleaming blue and brown on the clean surface.

            “Shepard…” a comforting hum began in Garrus’ chest. There was little else he could do.

            “I’m going to disembowel that bastard and then I’m going to rip his heart out of his chest.” Shepard’s knuckles were white on her lap, a biotic haze lingering around her fingertips. “I’ll do that much before I die.”

            Garrus nodded. “Leng deserves every bit of it.”

            “And I’ll see Thane again, one way or another, but…” The way her mouth contorted might have been an attempt at a playful grin; it looked more like madness. “But I have to do it better this time, right? Practice makes perfect, I’m told.” She closed her eyes, cleared them. Shook her head. “Go down with dignity and save the galaxy properly this time.”

            “Or you could avoid dying and leaving us to figure out what the hell to do without you.”

            That got a genuine, albeit dark, chuckle. “My time and my luck _will_ run out, Garrus, even if it’s not at the end of this war. I like to believe there’s always another way, but sometimes, there’s only one. When I face that again, I want to be ready to do it right, ready to let go and stop worrying about my own life... really glad that someone else made it instead.”

            The turian placed his glass on the table.

            Shepard’s fingers were at both temples now. “Joker feels guilty for not leaving fast enough, but I know that in my last few seconds, I was more worried about _me_ than I was relieved that I’d done something decent with the final few minutes of my life.”

He poured himself more wine.

The commander rolled her shoulder, then leaned forward, sliding her elbows to rest on her thighs, hands folded between her knees. “There’s one more thing.”

“Spirits, Shepard.” Garrus downed half the glass. “Ok. I’m ready.”

“What that happens, Garrus, I need someone to tell my team that it will be all right—that it wasn’t just me doing impossible things. It was _them_. There’s no one I trust more to do that than you.”

He finished his wine. “I lied, Shepard—I wasn’t ready for that.” He set the glass on the table. “Look… I—what about Tali or Liara? Spirits, Joker has been around longest, Shepard, I—”

            “I trust all of them, Garrus, but the best for this job is _you_. Liara has a lot going on, Tali will want time, and Joker doesn’t exactly have a way with people. You’re a leader, Garrus. You’ll always be ready to do what needs to be done, even if you’re not sure before it happens.”

            Discomfort resounded in his sub-harmonics. “I really—without—”

            “I won’t leave you high and dry—I promise, Garrus.”

            He raised his brow plates. “I don’t think you can promise that, Shepard—you just got done telling me you’ll be dead.”

            She nodded, shrugged. “I’ll just be watching _your_ six for a change.”

            That earned a chuckle. “Sure you won’t get bored?”

            “Nah. I expect you to get into sufficient trouble for me.”

            “I’ll see what I can do, but if the Reapers are long gone by the time you die, I think you might get tired of the comparatively petty troubles I get into.”

            Shepard laughed. “It’ll be a good break. Just get into _some_ trouble for me?” She offered her hand.

            He smiled in spite of the weight that lay behind her light words. “You do realize it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen to you.”

            “Maybe so, but just in case. Humor me, Garrus.”

He placed his taloned hand in hers. “I promise. Stay on my six, even if it’s not quite what you’re used to?”

            They shook on it. “I promise, Vakarian.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Never Let Me Go" by Florence and the Machine


End file.
